Drinks and Irritation
by CrystalOfEllinon
Summary: A requested piece for General Zargon. T for alcohol consumption, references to sex, and mild language. Also, ninja torture. Mwahaha.
1. Chapter 1

"Squid" is a term used by the Army and Air force when referring to Navy personnel. Rather like "Grunt", "Jarhead" or "Flyboy", it's a term of mildly derogatory affection. Pretty much all branches of the armed forces are more or less convinced that all other branches are a waste of good air, but God help you if you badmouth one within earshot of a member of any of the others without actually being in the armed forces yourself…immediate and brutal ass kicking will result.

* * *

Hawk flipped through the folder Storm Shadow had deposited on his desk. The general raised an eyebrow. "Extras, hmm?" A slow smile, and Hawk's eyes lit up. "Is this…"

"Briefing on an op in Sierra Gordo…apparently the Commander wants to get one of his henches in as dictator. It's a smart move…it would give them a monopoly on the silver mines in the area."

Hawk _grinned. _"Not if I have anything to say about it. Where'd you find this? We had no idea...I was just hoping for fortress blueprints."

Storm shrugged, grinning slightly. "That particular gem was in Destro's personal safe. I make it a habit to rifle through his things whenever I happen to be in the area."

"Show off." But Hawk was still grinning. "Good job. I've got another job for you, though this one is," the general hesitated, "slightly less exiting. You don't even have to leave the Pit."

Tommy raised an eyebrow. "I have a feeling that I am not going to like this."

Hawk sighed. "Probably not. There's a party going on down in the rec room; Stalker just found out that his wife is pregnant."

Storm Shadow smiled. "Good for 'Lonzo."

"Yeah." Hawk grinned. "He's been bouncing off the walls since she called. Well, Clutch and Shipwreck went into town once they got off duty and came back with several bottles of God only knows what. I told the men that they could enjoy themselves as long as they were off duty, and made it very clear that any property damage would come out of their pay and would earn them KP for a month. And I told the lot that they won't get PT off tomorrow if they overindulge and end up with hangovers. Beach is looking forwards to yelling at anyone who overdoes it. Still…" Another sigh. "I've already got Snake down there keeping an eye on things, but I'm sure he'd like a hand. I know I can trust you two to stay sober and keep things from sliding too far south."

Tommy sighed. "Yes, sir." Great. Drunk patrol. He _hated_ drunks.

"Excellent." Hawk started scribbling a report. "Dismissed. Try not to kill anyone unless they really deserve it."

"Yes, sir."

He heard the activity well before he actually reached the rec room; he recognized Grunt's voice, singing loudly and off key to the sort of loud rhythmic noises that Sherry called 'music'. Under this there was the low murmur of people talking rather loudly.

The door was open. He slid inside, winced, and to several loud groans stalked over to the tape player and turned the volume _way_ down. His glare, however, backed one of the grease monkeys up several steps and no one else decided to argue with the ninja over music volume.

"Tommy!" Stalker, clearly well past 'buzzed', grinned and headed for him with the exaggeratedly deliberate gait of someone drunk trying to appear sober. "He's _back!_ Guess what?"

"Hawk told me. Congratulations."

"'m gonna be a dad _again."_ Stalker said happily. "Want something? To celebrate?"

"No, thank you. Hawk…"

"Aw, he's got you watching us poor drunk slobs too?" Clutch grinned. "Guess we'll have to drink his share, guys."

There was a cheer from several grease monkeys. Tommy glanced around.

Snake Eyes, looking as if there were many places that he would much rather be, was standing off to one side. Storm slid over to lean against the wall.

"I hate drunks." He muttered.

There was a sigh from his fellow ninja. *Do I get to leave now, or do we both get to suffer?*

"We both get to suffer. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy for 'Lonzo…"

*But you hate parties almost as much as I do. I understand and sympathize. I'd much rather congratulate him when he'd actually remember it.* Snake sighed again. *Clutch has been trying to convince me to 'let loose for once' for the last hour.*

Tommy eyed the room. "I don't see Red…is she on duty tonight?"

*No. She stuck around for a few toasts and took off…said she had intel briefs to go over.*

Shipwreck and Clutch suddenly elbowed their way over. The sailor was holding two shot glasses full of something clear.

"Heyyy!" 'Wreck was grinning. "We've got both of 'em here now…hey, Clutch? Which one you suppose could hold their tequila better?" The sailor brandished the shot glasses. "I've got fifty on Snake."

"I dunno." Clutch eyed them critically. "Snake's bigger…more mass…no bet."

"Y'hear that, Stormy?" Shipwreck eyed him in a challenging sort of manner. "Wanna try and prove us wrong?"

Both ninja glared. Storm Shadow sighed. "No, I don't. Besides, I already know that Snake Eyes can drink me under the table."

The sailor and the mauler driver blinked. "Really?" Clutch sounded nonplussed. "When…?"

"None of your business." That particular incident, in fact, had taken place during their tour in the jungle, directly following the massacre of their first unit. Ninja generally did not allow themselves to lose control, but Tommy had been convinced to have _one_ drink with his friend in memory of their fallen comrades.

He had very quickly discovered that the occasional polite cup of _sake_ had _not_ prepared him for the six ounce 'shots' of hundred and ninety proof bathtub gin that the dive of a bar had served. One drink had pretty much killed little things like 'common sense' and 'good judgment', and the night had gone downhill from there. It was _not_ a particularly pleasant memory, the hangover the next day even less so.

It was not an incident that he'd ever told his uncles about. He did, after all, have some sense of self-preservation.

"_Touchy._" But Shipwreck and Clutch left the pair of ninja alone. The tequila vanished down the throats of the already-tipsy men fairly quickly.

Just then Tommy heard a familiar voice.

"N' there I was, ten thousand feet, and the little sonovabitch in the glider thingie is hiding in a cloud, 'n I've got _bullet holes _in my canopy…damn_it,_ I can't _see…_move it, tall people._"_

Storm groaned as a dark head emerged from a group containing Ace and Wild Bill; Sherry was, apparently, both rather tipsy and standing on a table.

She apparently had a drink in one hand. She was gesticulating wildly and continuing with her war stories. Ace snorted loudly and tried to cut her off at one point; this earned him a glare that should have scorched the taller pilot's hair right off.

Storm shook his head. "How do you know when you've got a fighter pilot at your party?" He murmured.

Snake glanced over, and Tommy smiled as his sword brother started panting with silent laughter and finished the old infantry joke. *Don't worry; they won't let you forget.* The mute ninja shook his head. *Too true. They've been trying to one-up each other for the last half hour. And the really sad thing is that Banger has only had two drinks. Your girlfriend is a lightweight, brother.*

"Well, it's not like she has much body mass to put it in. The bottle is half her height." Tommy sighed. "Drunk, cocky pilots, a drunk, irritating squid, drunk, irritating tank drivers…I'd better be getting hazard pay for this. I'm going to go and make sure she doesn't kill herself."

Snake Eyes curled thumb and forefinger into the 'OK' symbol. Tommy stalked off.

He positioned himself out of the way but where he could both keep an eye on the woman now (thankfully) sitting on the edge of the table and the rest of the room. There was a yelp; Tommy watched his sword brother drag Footloose out of the room directly following an attempt by the trooper to refill his glass that had resulted in whiskey getting spilled.

The barracks weren't far away. Snake Eyes was back, sans infantry trooper, within a few minutes.

Shipwreck drifted over to the group swapping war stories around the table. He edged just slightly too close to Sherry to be listening to her; Storm narrowed his eyes. Shipwreck generally didn't hit on Sherry unless there weren't any other women around; the sailor had loudly proclaimed a few times that he 'liked em' tall'. Still…Storm glared. His relationship with the pilot might be casual, but he _didn't_ share. The sailor edged a bit closer, and if 'Wreck's hands got any closer to territory that Tommy considered _his, _the sailor _was_ going to lose limbs. Painfully.

He cleared his throat loudly. Shipwreck jumped, met his eyes, and backed hastily away. Sherry seemed not to have noticed the sailor edging into her personal space, but she did notice the noise. She spotted Storm and her face brightened.

"Hey." She waved cheerfully if a bit unsteadily. "You're back." She went to hop off the table, and nearly overbalanced. Tommy grabbed her by the belt and set her back on her feet. She blinked up at him and grinned. "Thanks…you're _cute."_

"I know…you're drunk." He pried the glass out of her hand, ignoring her protests.

"M' not _finished_ with that."

"Yes, you are. You've had enough. You're already going to be miserable tomorrow at PT." He steered her towards the door.

"You're not my _father._" She glared.

He sighed. He really, really hated drunks. "Hawk wanted me to keep people in line. It isn't personal. I'll be dragging Shipwreck out of here soon enough, I think."

There was a crash to the left. Tommy glanced over, and spotted his sword brother dragging Clutch to his feet and towards the door by the scruff of his neck. "Definitely dragging Shipwreck out soon. He was almost as gone as Clutch."

He was really starting to think that this was some sort of payback on Hawk's part. Storm Shadow had, after all, inflicted a lot of damage to G.I. Joe during his years with Cobra. He'd be sure that this was deliberate torture if Snake wasn't stuck here too.

Stalker grinned at them as Tommy steered the little woman towards the door. "Gonna go have your own party, huh?"

"Shut up." Tommy growled. He really liked Stalker better sober.

Sherry was singing a really bad rendition of her favorite rock ballad when they reached the women's barracks. Tommy reached for the doorknob. "Can you get yourself in bed?"

"M' not _that_ drunk."

"Good." A sudden noise from behind the closed door, and he froze abruptly for a second. Those were low voices, and they were both very familiar, and sounded very much involved. He groaned.

He should have _known._ He hadn't seen Jaye or Flint in the rec room, and he knew Duke was the officer on duty tonight. Of _course._ He hadn't seen Covergirl either; she must be with Beachhead, which was another mental picture he really didn't want to think about. Well, CoverGirl wouldn't be bad, actually…

Sherry blinked a few times and then grinned. "Whoo! Someone's having fun."

"Shut up. I don't want to think about it." Tommy sighed. "You're staying in my quarters tonight, then. I will _kill_ anyone who makes smart remarks about drunken women to me tomorrow. Painfully. _Slowly._"

"You're a regular knight in shining armor."

He felt a hand running over his bicep. He eyed her. "No. Not with you like this."

She scowled. "Spoilsport."

He sighed. "I like you better sober."

Mwahaha. Yes, I enjoy torturing Storm. How'd you guess?

Next chappy will be up when I get it finished…I'm working on like eight fics right now, and am stuck on a few of them, so I decided to throw this much up for General Zargon, who requested it and has been waiting patiently.


	2. Chapter 2

Steering a tipsy, overly cheerful woman down a few hallways and getting her settled safely in bed was a simple enough task in theory. In practice, Storm Shadow was considering gagging her, tossing her over his shoulder, shoving her in his room, and sleeping out in the hall tonight. Sure, he wouldn't be getting any for a _long_ time, but if he had to hear one more off-key rendition of 'We are the Champions' or 'King Nothing', he wasn't sure he'd care any longer.

It wouldn't have even been so bad if she'd just stuck to one or the other, but she kept hopping from a line of one to the chorus of the other, both sung to a tune that had no relation to either song. Actually, the fact that he even _knew_ the songs was sad, since he didn't particularly like either one. He sighed.

Finally, his door. Hey keyed in his code while she hummed absently, miraculously actually managing to hit the general tune of 'Bohemian Rhapsody'. He steered her inside; she sat down on his bed.

"Ooh. Your bed is cushier than mine." She started wrestling her boots off.

"I know. You tell me every time you stay here. Will you be okay…" He groaned as she casually pulled her shirt off. "_No._ We've been over this. Not while you're drunk."

She blinked innocently at him. "Don't like sleeping in my clothes." Her pants followed her shirt onto his floor, which was normally a situation he was highly enthusiastic about.

But she just tugged back the blankets and settled down without further prodding. "There. I'm in bed and not causing trouble or trying to jump you. Happy, ninja man?"

"Very. Stay there, please. I've got more people to go scowl at."

"Have fun." She still sounded almost irritatingly perky. She was energetic normally; drinking seemed to egg that personality trait over the line into 'hyperactive'.

Sighing, he headed back to the rec room.

By the time he and Snake had wrestled the final partier back to the barracks, Storm was convinced that bouncers probably had the most irritating job in the world. More than once, he had to grit his teeth and take a few calming breaths to keep from simply knocking someone senseless and shoving them into a broom closet to sleep it off.

Despite her earlier perkiness, when he opened his door again it was to a snoring pile of blankets on his bed. He showered, finally getting the dried viper blood out of his hair (the laundry crew complained on a regular basis about having to bleach bloodstains out of his white uniform) and collapsed into bed.

It took him a few minutes to pry enough of the blankets loose for himself. Sherry had a surprisingly tenacious grip when it came to maintaining blanket monopoly. Finally he elbowed her (fairly gently) in the ribs. She half woke, loosening her grip. He quickly claimed his fair share of quilt, and she rolled over and promptly burrowed into the new source of body heat before dropping back off.

He shut his eyes and was asleep in seconds.

The next morning he woke, as usual, exactly five minutes before his alarm went off. Sherry had, as usual, somehow reclaimed most of the covers at some point during the night. He rolled upright, yawned hugely, ran a hand through his hair, and started digging through his dresser.

He was just lacing up his boots when the alarm went off. There was a moan from somewhere under the covers.

"Make it _stop."_

Grinning, he shut the alarm off. "And how are we feeling today?"

"Fuck off."

"You still have PT today, you know."

"Oh, Christ…BeachHead yelling…Kill me now, please."

"You didn't even _have_ that much." Of course, _he_ was one to talk. He winced in memory of one particular night in a dive bar near a military base in the jungle.

"I don't drink often. Do you have any painkillers around here?" Sherry reluctantly poked her head out of the blankets.

Storm fished a bottle of aspirin out of the top drawer of his dresser and tossed it to her. She raised an eyebrow. "Wow…really? I thought you hated painkillers."

"Generally, yes. Doc gave me that after I refused prescription painkillers after that little incident with that Dreadnok and the tire iron. Over the counter meds don't bother me."

"Oh." She dry-swallowed two pills and tossed the bottle back to him. "Thanks. I may only collapse instead of dying now."

"Bad idea. If you collapse with a hangover, Beach'll just drag you through the rest of the course by the neck. And then yell at you when you come around. You'd be better off dropping dead."

"He _would."_ She reluctantly crawled out of bed. "I'll live. Was I standing on a table last night?"

"You were."

"How did I not kill myself?"

"Luck, I believe."

She located her clothes from the previous night and tugged them back on. "Shiny. Just shiny. Thanks for dragging me out before I had much more. If I felt any worse, I would _never _make it through PT."

"You're welcome." He smirked slightly. "Lets go…I'm looking forwards to seeing Beach get his hands on 'Wreck and Clutch. They are _not_ going to be happy men today." He grinned. "They were _way_ worse off than you were, so it should be _very _amusing. More so than you."

She raised her eyebrows.

"I'll have to listen to your complaining after Beach finished with us, so it won't be as funny. I also can't taunt you as much. I don't think I'd much enjoy getting castrated with a sidewinder missile."

"Oh, _that's _why you dragged me out when you did." She narrowed her eyes. "And here I was thinking that it was because you didn't want me to feel quite so bad the next morning. And you're right; you _wouldn't_ like it."

"Well, that too."

"Uh huh. Right." She shook her head, but rapidly stopped the motion. "Ow. Okay, doing that is a mistake." A huge sigh. "I want some _coffee._"

"If you hurry, you might get a cup or three in before PT starts."

"Yeah. Good idea. See you on the course." She rubbed her hands over her face and trudged out the door.

Tommy, smirking, headed for the stairwell and the surface. Watching the agony of hungover men (and women) dragging themselves through PT would _more_ than make up for the torture he'd been put through the night before.

Snake Eyes, as usual, was already outside with Scarlett, who was looking distinctly grumpy, which was fairly standard for her pre-caffeine consumption. BeachHead, of course, was already waiting impatiently for the rest of the team to show up. Tommy shook his head; the Sergeant Major, in his considered opinion, was crazy.

Tommy, when he wasn't on a mission, tended towards early rising. He, however, had _nothing_ on BeachHead, who considered six in the morning _extreme_ sleeping in.

"Morning." Tommy nodded to Snake, who was stretching kinks out of his shoulders.

Snake Eyes nodded. BeachHead perked up; Tommy listened, and recognized at least eight Joes making their way out to PT. That...He grinned. _That_ was Clutch.

Under his balaclava, BeachHead was _smiling._ While for once the Grin of Imminent Pain was _not_ directed at him, Tommy knew that this could change at the slightest provocation. He carefully schooled his face into indifference and waited for the show.

"Good mornin'" BeachHead's voice was deceptively cheerful...and very, very loud. Tommy glanced back and saw Clutch and Grunt wince, sealing their fate. "Well well...you two have _fun_ last night?"

Clutch eyed the ranger warily. "Is there an answer to that that doesn't mean pushups, Sergeant Major?"

"Nope." BeachHead sounded almost _happy._ "An' just since you seem so eager to get a start on them, you can drop and knock out twenty. _Now._ You too, Grunt."

Both men groaned. Beach scowled. "Make that forty. How we feeling about that 'good time' we had last night, hmmm? _Faster_, Clutch. You ain't gonna slack off just 'cause you've got a headache."

By the time the rest of the team had straggled out, Tommy was having a very, very hard time not smirking. After warm-ups, it was becoming almost impossible. Thankfully, during running BeachHead and the more hungover individuals dropped back, the miserable Joes desperately trying not to be sick (and, in Shipwreck's case, apparently losing the battle) and the drill instructor seeming to take great delight in yelling at the lot. This left Tommy to snicker quietly to himself unnoticed.

By the time the three miles was up and Beach verbally whipped the lot of them over to the obstacle course, Storm had managed to regain his bland non-expression. BeachHead eyed him suspiciously, but Storm just blinked calmly back and the sharp brown eyes moved on.

He was sent over the course with Spirit and Flint, both of whom were feeling fine. He crossed the finish line first, per usual, covered with the usual post-PT coating of grass clippings and grime but grinning.

Really, military obstacle courses were so _easy._ It really wasn't fair; he could (and once had) turn handsprings across the narrow wooden beam bridging the gap between two high net climbs. (BeachHead was fond of REC's and narrow edge-along-inch-by-inch board bridges. Unfortunately for the Sergeant Major, a walkway that gave you four whole inches of space to play with was considered _fantastic_ footing by ninja. The fifteen foot fall with no handrail didn't matter; height was all objective, really. A ninja didn't think about height.)

That particular display of balance and coordination, while drawing applause and hoots of approval from his teammates, had _not_ made BeachHead happy.

Snake Eyes had to run the course with Stalker, who was one of the worse off. Snake hung back, keeping an eye on their friend, who was quite plainly considering the pros and cons of just hanging himself with the rope swing dangling over one of the mudpits.

Sherry got sent out with Tunnel Rat and CoverGirl. She wasn't as badly off as some of the others, and suffered through with only minor groaning. She did manage to lose her grip on the rope and land in the mudpit with a wet squelch, which earned her fifty pushups and a chewing out.

When BeachHead was finally satisfied and dismissed them, Sherry fell in next to Tommy. "Remind me to never, ever, _ever_ look at vodka again when I've got Sergeant Hardass the next day."

"I would have thought that would more or less be common sense." Tommy raised an eyebrow. "How are you feeling?"

"I'll live. The aspirin and coffee are working, and the exercise actually kind of helped."

"Good. I like you better sober anyway. You sing less."

He easily dodged the swipe at his ribs. "Hand speed. You've got _no_ hand speed. I've told you that you need to work on that."

"Shut up."

Finis.


End file.
